


Just Do Some Good

by estelraca



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Buffy the Vampire Slayer AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 10:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5245640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valjean took Cosette to London early in 1832.  Now Cosette returns to France, following her Slayer's dreams to find the other young woman who has been Called, so that together they can face down the darkness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Do Some Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [manycoloureddays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/manycoloureddays/gifts).



> Written for ManyColouredDays for the Les Mis winter holiday exchange. I loved all the prompts, but I couldn't resist Cosette and Eponine as Slayers and lovers.

_Just Do Some Good_

Cosette dies on her seventeenth birthday.

She is in London, with her father. They have just attended an opera—an exorbitant indulgence, where her father is concerned, but many of the other young ladies at church had been discussing the show, and apparently Cosette's pining had eventually convinced her father that it was worth attending.

"So, my dear." Her father smiles at her as they walk out into the brisk fall evening. "Was it all that you imagined it would be?"

"Everything and more!" Cosette barely resists the urge to twirl her father in a circle. He probably wouldn't appreciate it, and it likely wouldn't work, anyway, given their differences in mass.

Though Cosette feels like she _should_ be able to do it, if she wants. She feels like she should be able to do a great many things today, and perhaps that's what turning seventeen means—feeling as though one could take on the world and win.

"It's good to see you smile so." Her father pats her hand as they continue down the street, away from the lights and sound of the diminishing crowd. He slips into French as they do, his voice becoming easier and less strained. He always seems acutely aware of how those around them will view him, tries to match his language and accent to them as much as he can.

"You see me smile often, Father." Cosette offers him another grin. "I've been thoroughly enjoying our time—"

Cosette doesn't have words to describe the monster that attacks them then. It is human, vaguely, but there is a sense of something quite _off_ about it even before she sees its face. The way it _moves_ is inherently _wrong—_ plus it dropped down from atop a roof, a leap that she's fairly certain most people would not be able to make without breaking something.

She shoves her father away, with a strength that she hadn't expected, and faces the monster as it hisses, a human face contorted into a demon's visage, fangs having replaced canines.

Cosette's fingers tug on the chain around her neck, raising the small silver cross that was the other part of her birthday gift.

The monster hisses again. "I know greater fear than that little symbol can possibly instill, Slayer. Why not make this easy on yourself? You have no weapons. Just let the inevitable—"

She hears the beast behind her, even over the pounding of her heart and the nattering distraction of the one behind her. It is just a small sound, a grating shift of gravel, but her body spins and her fist slams into the side of another monster's face, sending it staggering to the side.

Cosette doesn't waste time staring at her fist and trying to figure out what's going on. She can _fight_ these things. Having faced monsters that she couldn't even hope to touch far too often, the idea is giddying, almost awe-inspiring. Whirling again, fists clenched, she prepares to face the first monster.

And gasps as something slick and cold slides into her gut, burns a painful trail up to her chest.

" _No!_ " Her father's scream is one of pure anguish.

She has known physical pain before. She thought she knew most of what there was to know about physical pain and hardship.

She was very wrong.

Her father kills the creature. She is aware enough to see that, the pain fading away along with all feeling in her hands and legs. Her father has always carried a crucifix, a beautiful piece of work worn smooth from the repeated passage of his hands over the years. He has it wrapped around one hand now, and proceeds to beat the creature that stabbed her, smoke rolling off it in waves with each contact of her father's fist.

She doesn't see what happens to the second monster. Perhaps it runs away. She makes sure that it doesn't attack her father from behind, at least, watching the fight through misty eyes, her fingers toying with the hilt of the knife that protrudes from her abdomen.

When the creature stops moving, her father comes to her side, gathers her gently into his arms.

Cosette tries to tell him she loves him, but blood trails out with the breath she had been holding, and instead she passes into the darkness of unconsciousness and beyond.

XXX

Cosette wakes on the bank of a river.

She doesn't think that's what's supposed to happen.

A hand is stroking her hair, gentle, repetitive, and she blinks her eyes until her father's tired face swims into focus.

"Cosette?" Hope is a glistening thread holding the hoarse name together.

Cosette swallows, her body feeling distant and disconnected as she tries to sit up. "Father?"

"Hush, child." His hands gather her up, help her into a sitting position, her head against his shoulder. "You're safe. For the moment, at least."

"For..." Cosette coughs, and her mouth tastes strangely of metal. "What happened?"

For a moment she doesn't think he is going to answer her. His eyes go distant, unfocused, as they do when she asks about other topics that he cannot bring himself to speak of. Then he sighs, a deep, pained sound. "What do you remember?"

(She remembers someplace warm, and safe, and comfortable. She remembers a man-woman-child, wrapped in garments that were no color and every color. She remembers a gentle touch against her forehead, and words that were more than words. _There is still a great deal you can do, little lark who sings of hope even having known despair, and I trust that you will not waste the precious gift you are being given._ )

Cosette's hand moves to her stomach, to her chest. She is wearing a simple white dress, but there is no pain where there should be pain, no sign of bandages or feel of scarred skin beneath her fingertips. "I... there was a monster, and I..."

"The monster is a vampire. Yes, they are real." Her father pulls her close to his side. "And you, my child... you are one who has been Called to fight them."

"Called?" Cosette's voice squeaks, and she presses herself closer to her father, wanting the comfort of his warmth and bulk against the cold chills that are running up and down her body. "I can fight them?"

"There are women who carry a special bloodline, and from that bloodline a Slayer is chosen by God to fight against the vampires and other forces of darkness." Her father has his crucifix wrapped around his hand still, Cosette realizes, the wood looking scorched and battered. "When one Slayer falls, another from the bloodline is Called to take their place, given gifts of strength and speed and heartiness to make them a match for the inhuman monsters."

"And... that's me?" Cosette presses her right hand to her heart. " _I'm_ this... Slayer?"

"The previous Slayer died the day that you were attacked. You were Called, though I didn't know it, and you certainly had no way of knowing it."

Cosette shakes her head. "No, that can't be. How—does that mean my mother was a Slayer?"

"Your mother had the bloodline, for all the good it did her." A low note of bitter frustration enters her father's voice. "She told me, when I said that I would care for you. She said that she had been contacted by Watchers, who are supposed to protect the Slayers and their line."

"And did they?" This is the most that Cosette has ever heard her father talk of her mother. "Were they there when you and Mother needed them?"

Silence, and she worries that she has pushed too far. Then he gives a small, bitter laugh and shakes his head. "No. They did not. She was older than most Slayers are when they are Called, when she fell on hard times, so they did not see fit to help her."

"Oh." Cosette swallows, supposing she shouldn't be surprised. "Are you...?"

"No. I didn't even believe it was true, when your mother told me. I thought she must be delirious. But it was true. There are more monsters out there in the dark than most people see." Her father turns, slowly, his hands on her shoulders to steady her, until they are face to face. "Monsters that they will want you to fight, but the choice is yours."

"Monsters like the ones that attacked me." Cosette's right hand again moves to where the sword had stabbed through her. "How... I was hurt..."

"You died, Cosette." Her father's eyes bore into her, gentle, kind, haunted, implacable. "You have been dead for a little over two weeks."

Shaking her head, Cosette presses her hand harder to her stomach. "That can't be."

"It can." Her father licks his lips. "Just as there are monsters in the world, there is good. _You_ are good. You have been Called, and whatever choice you make, I am certain it will be the right one. I do not believe that you were meant to die that night."

"Father, what did you—"

"Another Slayer has almost certainly been Called. Another young lady who will no doubt need help and guidance—who may not know exactly how dangerous those who will present themselves as her protectors can be." Her father's hand shakes as he raises it to stroke hair away from her face. "Perhaps the two of you, together..."

"Father." Cosette grabs both of his hands in hers, her voice shaking. "Tell me where we are. Tell me what you've done."

"In this world there are monsters, and there are forces of good, and there are people, who can fall into either category." Her father's eyes slide to the river. "But there are also... other things. Beings who claim no allegiance, who are what they are. Who can, if given the proper price, do the impossible."

"I was dead." Cosette swallows hard. "And now I'm not. They can...?"

"This river belongs to the _melusine_. We are back in France—I should probably have told you that. The north-eastern portion, I will be sure to draw you a map so you can find your way. Though the Watchers say that the Slayer dreams of where she needs to be, so perhaps you will not need a map. I don't know. I am so sorry, Cosette, there is so much I do not know." He presses a kiss to the back of her hand. "There are Watchers waiting, to take you into their custody. The _melusine_ has promised me until the dawn tomorrow before they can approach the riverbank, though, which gives us time enough to decide what we will do."

"And at dawn tomorrow?" Tears prick at Cosette's eyes, because she already knows the answer. She has heard fairy-tales all her life, first while skulking in the shadows while they were read to others, the from the nuns who used them as tales of Satan's trickery, and finally from books and friends at church. She knows that there is always a price, and for a gift such as this, the price must be very high.

"At dawn tomorrow, I will die." His hand cups her cheek. "A life for a life. I did not have much life left, anyway, my child. It is a price I am more than happy to pay."

"But—"

"It cannot be changed." Her father's finger falls across her mouth. "I do not regret it. I only want you to be safe and able to do God's will, as you see fit. I will see to it that you have my funds, and I will answer as many of your questions as I can, and then I will go to God, and hope that He is pleased with my actions."

Cosette cries.

She clings to him and cries, because he is her father and she loves him dearly and it is all too much to take in.

But when she is done crying, when the sun still hangs high in the western sky, she takes his hand and begs him to talk.

She learned well as a child that crying will not solve your problems, though _he_ taught her, on a night long ago, that sometimes it can attract the attention of good as well as of ill.

XXX

"Marius!"

It can't have been her. Marius _knows_ that it can't have been her. He had never been able to find Ursule after she and her father abruptly ceased coming to the park. There's simply no rational way that the woman whose face he glimpsed briefly outside the window could possibly be her. For one thing, it's quite late at night and quite dark, and the woman he followed through the park was respectable. She wouldn't possibly be found alone at this time of night. For another, they are not in the best part of town, even without factoring in the supernatural—

" _Marius!_ "

The yell catches his attention, jerks it away from the window he had been gazing at. A vampire has broken away from his Slayer, apparently deciding that going after her Watcher to use him as a hostage is the best way to survive the evening.

In that he's made a mistake. Marius may not have spent much time as a Watcher, and he may not be very good at it, depending on who you ask, but his response to mortal peril is to charge headlong into it, screaming and attacking.

The tactic has the desired effect, the vampire reeling back for just a second before curling its lip up and snarling disdain as Marius' swing goes wide. A hand closes on his throat, moving fast as a snake-strike, and even though the crucifix hanging about his neck burns the monster's hand, it doesn't induce the creature to let go.

Turning to ash does, though, and Marius drops coughing to the floor, rubbing at his aching throat as he stares up into Eponine's unimpressed eyes. Tucking the stake back into her jacket, she places her hands on her hips rather than offering him a hand up. " _What_ in the hell was that?"

One final cough clears his throat to the point where Marius feels he can speak. "That was a vampire. You just killed it."

"I _know_ that." Eponine rolls her eyes. "I'm not an _idiot_ , and this isn't my first time on stage."

"No, it's your sixth." Pushing himself to his feet, Marius wipes his hands off on his pants. He doesn't need the Slayer's help to take care of himself, anyway. "And so far everything you've faced has been small."

"There were five blood-sucking monstrosities in this house!" Indignation colors Eponine's voice, and she continues to glare at him. "Now there are none. And it wasn't _me_ who got myself into a spot of trouble just now, was it, Mister Watcher?"

He's done something to annoy the young woman. Marius has no idea _what_ , but Eponine usually isn't this confrontational with him. When he found her a month ago, she had been scared, confused, and wonder-struck in nearly equal measures, hanging off every word he said. Granted, when he found her she had been under attack by four very determined vampires, and she had been fighting based only on instinct and what she'd learned on the streets over the years. The two combined had been a surprisingly effective strategy, and between Marius with a crossbow and Eponine with the stakes that he'd brought for her they had survived.

Now they are doing more than surviving. Now they are trying to take up their proper duties, as protectors and guardians of their town. Given that Marius has only been a Watcher for about six months, it's going... well, it's going.

Except somehow he's managed to annoy his Slayer. "My being attacked was a mistake on my part. It won't happen again."

"Damn straight it won't!" One of Eponine's fingers pokes him hard in the chest. "As much as I like your friends, _you're_ my Watcher. I don't want t' have t' go replacin' you this soon."

Her street-accent thickens, and Marius blinks at her expression, trying to see beyond the fury. Is she really concerned for him? Or is that jealousy narrowing her eyes? Or both? Marius has never been exceptionally good at reading people, and Eponine is particularly difficult for him, being from a class he has had little interaction with. "If anything happens to me, Courfeyrac or Bahorel will be able to take care of you. They may not be proper Watchers, but they're good people."

"I certainly like them more than your proper Watchers." Eponine folds her arms in front of her chest, lip curling in a gesture of distaste that is very similar to the one the vampire wore. "They actually _talk_ to me, unlike your dainty old men."

"The Watchers _were_ talking to you." Exasperation colors Marius' voice as he turns away from Eponine, searching the house for anything that might be useful—anything that might help them track down who or what is responsible for the surge of young vampires in Paris, and hopefully explain if this has any connection to the failed Convergence ceremony three months ago.

"No, they were talking _about_ me. Might seem like a small thing, but it's important." Eponine joins him in the search, still scowling and unhappy.

"They were _concerned_ because the last eight Slayers to be Called were all murdered by the vampires before the Watchers could even approach them. They wanted to make sure you were kept safe." Marius frowns, his voice faltering even as he says the words, a niggling worm of doubt burrowing in as he remembers the way the Council addressed _him_ rather than her for most of the meeting. It had been his honor to be presented to the Council as the determined hero who found the next Slayer, but perhaps he can understand why Eponine felt a bit... put off by their tones and questions. Especially since Marius hadn't really saved her. Or if he saved her, she just as much saved him. Sure, he took out two of the vampires with his crossbow, but he would have died if she hadn't taken out the other two.

"Well, maybe if they actually gave the Slayers credit for thinking and acting on their own they wouldn't be dyin' quite so often."

"That's unfair, Eponine." Marius straightens, his hands clenching into fists. "The Watchers never met those eight young women, not until they were already dead, and the Slayer before them..."

She hadn't been beautiful. Marius had expected she would be, for some reason. He had thought that the powers she wielded, the God-given gift to protect the world from monsters, would translate into physical beauty, like the statues of the Virgin Mary in church. But her face was much like any other face—scarred from some childhood pox illness, worn from a decade's work as the Slayer, and she had treated Marius more as a younger cousin she had to watch out for than as an assistant.

He watched her die. They had disrupted the Convergence Ceremony, keeping Paris from literally falling into hell, but the cost, the ripple effects—would the rebellion have failed, if there weren't literally demonic hordes attempting to break through the barrier between worlds, fumes of anger and rage and barbarism rising up to infect soldiers and insurgents?

_We will never know how things might have gone_ , Enjolras had said, as they watched the sun set on June 6th. _Just how they did go, and how we will fight to have them go in the future._

Marius had nodded, still half convinced that the revolutionary was going to strangle him for dragging the Amis into a battle with demons when the political revolt they had been waiting for was about to come to a head. Enjolras never yelled at him about it, though, and the Amis _had_ been directly responsible for helping to stave the tide of darkness, even if they hadn't been able to save the Slayer.

Nothing he did would have been enough to save the Slayer, not bringing in all the extra fighters he knew of, not searching through the Parisian Watcher's headquarters' worth of books, not praying, nothing. He _knows_ nothing would have been enough, because he did everything he could think of, and he still buried her body and then raced to try to beat the enemy to the next Slayer.

A race they lost, soundly, time and again. How have the vampires been predicting who the next Slayer will be? Why are they producing numerous half-starved offspring and stashing them in run-down apartments scattered throughout Paris? What are—

"I'm sorry."

Marius blinks, caught off guard. He had almost forgotten Eponine is with him. "Sorry? For saving my life?"

"No, I always enjoy doing that." Eponine flashes him a smile. It is a gap-toothed, dirty smile still, but a month's worth of good food, decent clothing, and the Slayer's healing ability has transformed her from someone who looks like a skeleton close to death into an almost respectable person. "Sorry for poking old wounds. I know you're still sore over the last Slayer's death."

Technically she was nine Slayers ago, but given the incredibly short careers of everyone in between, Marius supposes it's a fair way of putting it. "Apology accepted. Do I get to know what I did to earn your ire?"

"Why?" Another grin, though this time more hesitant. "So you can earn it again?"

"So I can try to avoid it in the future." Marius turns so that he's facing the young woman. "We're supposed to be allies, you and I. Allies shouldn't be angering each other."

"Fair enough." Eponine crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Your mind wasn't on the fight. It was on that girl we passed earlier."

Marius can feel his face flush. "I—I wasn't..."

Except he was. He almost got himself killed mooning over a young woman who has been absent from his life now for the better part of a year.

Sighing, Marius rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck. "You're right. I'm sorry, Eponine. That's a far graver crime than anything you've done today."

"Apology accepted." Eponine sniffs. "Jus' don't make a habit of it, all right? I'd hate to have t' replace you with one of your smarter friends."

"Smarter—they are _not_ smarter than me, and you can't just replace me with one of the Amis!" Marius talks to Eponine's back as she continues searching the last corner of the room. "They're not even Watchers!"

"Yeah, I'm not really seein' that as a detriment." Eponine turns back to him, once more smiling. She has come to smile a great deal these last two weeks, once she really seemed to accept that she is the Slayer, the Chosen One. "Oh, don't look so put out. You're the only Watcher for me, don't worry."

"Right." Shaking his head, Marius decides to focus on the task at hand. "Nothing?"

"Nothing." Eponine runs her foot through a pile of ash that used to be a vampire. "Maybe we should try capturing one of these and questioning them?"

"Maybe." Marius frowns. "A task for another day, though."

"Or night." Putting her hands above her heads, Eponine stretches. "Anything else for us to do this evening?"

"Just your usual patrol." Sighing, Marius packs up his weapons and hauls the bag up onto his shoulder. "I'll head back to headquarters, see if we've got any new leads. Meet me there tomorrow, before you start your rounds?"

"I'll be there with bells on." And with that Eponine is gone, skipping out the door, the expression on her face still a smile, but one Marius would not like to find suddenly looming at him out of the darkness.

Once he's certain they've left no evidence behind that the Watchers can't deal with if noticed, Marius heads on his own way, hoping that some trace of a clue will appear soon.

XXX

Cosette prowls through the tenement, a combination of sorrow and fury building in her chest as she takes in the squalor. If she could convince herself that it was just the presence of vampires that has reduced these rooms to this state, she would be happier, but she knows better. The monsters may not have done anything to stop the decrepitude, but they didn't cause it.

Perhaps, in some ways, they are caused _by_ it. Would it be so easy for whatever is turning people to find victims if there weren't so many desperate and homeless? Would it be simple to rip souls from bodies and ask the husks left behind to dance and kill if the souls weren't already so battered and beaten?

She has never lived in a place like this, but she has lived in corners, apologizing for her mere presence. She can well imagine what those who live here feel.

There is something to stop the supernatural monsters, at least.

Two someones, and Cosette closes her eyes as she steps out of the house. What way should she go, if she wants to trail the other woman? If the new Slayer follows the path that she has most other nights, then Cosette will need to go east. There was something in her dreams last night, though, an image that was familiar, though it dances just out of reach now...

She can't find it, and so Cosette turns east, hoping to catch up to and follow the other Slayer.

She doesn't know the young woman's name, but she has been following her for the better part of three weeks now. Most of that following has been from a distance—a great distance, Cosette walking along a path that is laid out for her in dreams that are not dreams. Only when she came to the familiar area around Paris did Cosette deviate from the images that flashed nightly through her head, needing to take care of a few matters before she re-joined the living.

Cosette doesn't know why her father elected to bury a great deal of money in the forest, but she finds herself very grateful for it, as well as for the detailed instructions he gave her on how to find it. She is also very grateful for other pieces that he set in motion for her—for sending Toussaint ahead to Paris, for having Toussaint acquire mourning clothes for Cosette (though that may actually have been Toussaint's own thought, the woman knowing Cosette's father far too well), for giving Cosette another name to use in place of Fauchelevent.

Giving up her last name has been the hardest part of returning to Paris, but it was necessary if she truly wanted to avoid those who consider her their property. She had slipped from the Watcher's grasp with her father at her side; when he finally lay down to sleep, never to awake, she had continued on, fury and sorrow giving her steps wings. Now she is Euphrasie Madeleine by day, and Toussaint is her kindly servant, caring for her following the tragedy of her father's death—a story that is not untrue, the older woman have proven invaluable when it came to moving and planning a budget.

By night, though, Cosette is something else. By night she follows the snatches of dreams that linger in her mind with more clarity than usual—snatches of dream that are prophesy. It had taken only three days for her to spot the other Slayer, patrolling the streets with a young man who must be a Watcher but who looks strangely familiar. Since then she has followed as best she can, learning far too quickly that even if her strength and speed and instincts have been greatly improved, she is still a seventeen-year-old with no spying experience, which makes tailing someone much harder than she imagined it would be.

She hasn't learned the other Slayer's name. She hasn't learned what they're doing, other than killing vampires. She _has_ been able to help a little bit with that last part, at least, killing those who would move in to assist their brethren. She will need to find a way to attract the other Slayer's attention, though, because she can't keep—

"Move and I'll stake you." An arm appears around Cosette's throat as the rough, harsh voice whispers in her ear, and even through her dress Cosette can feel the familiar point of a stake.

"That would be a grave mistake." Cosette speaks quietly, her voice sounding high-pitched and light next to the other Slayer's. "I mean you no harm. We're on the same side."

"Really?" Skepticism oozes from the woman's voice. "Is that why you're trying to get my Watcher killed?"

"Trying to—" Cosette sputters in indignation. "I have done no such thing! And you don't believe I have, either, _or_ that I'm really a threat. If you did, you would have tried to kill me already."

"I'm looking for _information_." The stake presses in a bit harder. "You don't get information from a dead person."

"You know a good way to get information?" Narrowing her eyes, Cosette settles into the burning fury that always seems to be banked in her heart since she left her father behind, letting it flow through and around her, filling her with power and certainty. "You _ask_."

Her head connects with the other Slayer's face with a satisfying crack, and the pressure is abruptly gone from her neck. Cosette lunges forward before dropping down and sweeping her leg out, attempting to knock the other woman down.

The other Slayer dodges, jumping the kick as though it were nothing. Her elbow comes down hard on Cosette's shoulder, and Cosette is forced to roll away or risk injury.

She's outmatched.

Cosette realizes that quickly, after they trade another handful of blows. They are both fast, both strong, both sure of themselves and their bodies, but the other Slayer moves with the easy grace and attacks with the fierce ferocity and surety of someone who has done this before. She was a fighter, Cosette realizes abruptly, even before she became a Slayer.

Breaking off from the engagement, Cosette holds up her hands. "Stop! We don't need to do this."

"Why? 'cause you're losin'?" The other woman laughs, a dark, harsh sound. Her eyes are bright as she watches Cosette, eagerness written in all her body language. She likes to win, this Slayer—though really, who doesn't?

"Because, as I said, we're on the same side." Drawing a shaking breath, Cosette lowers her hands to her sides, carefully unclenching her fingers as she does.

It's hard. It's one of the hardest things to do, making yourself vulnerable to another person. There are so many ways they can hurt you—so many ways they can take the trust shown and use it cut you open, figuratively and metaphorically. She couldn't do it, for a while after she and her father moved into the convent. She can do it now, though. She learned to do it, with her father's calm patience, with her friends at the convent, and she can do it for this Slayer, this woman who should be her ally.

"What're you doin'?" The other woman scowls at her, eyes flicking from her face to her hands.

Cosette doesn't flinch, even when the woman throws a punch toward her cheek that just barely misses. "Trying to show you how serious I am about us being on the same side."

The second punch connects, a sledgehammer blow to her right cheek, and Cosette staggers to the side. _Fight_ , all her instincts yell, and it would be so easy to, but she can't.

Blinking back tears, she straightens and faces the woman again. "We're both Slayers. We should be helping each other, not fighting each other."

"We can't be." The other Slayer stares down at her fists, clearly shaken by Cosette's lack of a reaction to the blow. "There's only ever one Slayer called at a time."

Nodding, Cosette feels at the inside of her cheek with her tongue, tasting blood. "True. But we weren't Called at the same time. You were Called after I died."

A smirk spreads across the woman's face, then falters as it becomes clear Cosette isn't going to laugh with her. "You don't look very dead to me. Don't feel like it, either."

"I'm not, now. Someone very dear gave their life to bring me back." Cosette spreads her fingers, not daring to lift her arms in case the woman takes it as a threat. "So here we are. Two Slayers alive at the same time."

Lowering her fists but not unclenching them, the woman circles Cosette at a wary distance. "You do seem to know about the Watchers."

"At least a little bit." She has pieced together a lot, from what her father told her and what she has seen in dreams and rumors that she has heard in the shadows these last weeks, but there is still much more that she doesn't know. "I haven't had much personal interaction with them, but the man who brought me back to life, he said that they were planning to use me."

"Of course they use us." The woman snorts as though Cosette's said something foolish. "They're old. They're men. They're rich. They're educated. Any of those would be reason enough to assume they're going to use us."

" _I'm_ educated. At least somewhat." Cosette's hands fist in the black fabric of her mourning dress.

"No, you're not. You're a woman." The Slayer waves a hand. "Even if you can read and write—which I can do too, mind you—you aren't educated like _they're_ educated."

The woman is matching Cosette's cadence, the street burr and clip disappearing from her words. "Maybe not, but I don't think education's bad."

"It might not be. I guess Marius' friends aren't so bad." Shrugging, the Slayer adopts a more relaxed posture, though she still stays out of easy reach. "But it doesn't change the fact that there're lots of people who think their education means they own people like us."

"They don't." Cosette raises her chin, meeting the other woman's gaze. " _They_ need _us_ , not the other way around."

" _They're_ feedin' and clothin' me and my little sister." Scrubbing a hand across her face, the other woman frowns at Cosette as though Cosette is a strange and stubborn stain that has appeared. "You're really scared of them though, aren't you?"

"No." Cosette shakes her head. "I just... my father wanted me to stay out of their hands, and that's what I'm going to do. But I also... I have these abilities. I can _fight_."

"You've got strength and speed, but you can't fight." Eponine shakes her head. "Though... you've also got spirit, so maybe with a little work... is _that_ why you've been following me around? Because you want to learn how to fight?"

"And because I've been dreaming about you." Licking her lips, Cosette resists the urge to close her eyes, wanting to keep the other Slayer in clear view. "The Slayer dreams. So I assume that means we're supposed to be together."

"Slayer dreams." The woman's frown deepens. "They haven't said anything about those. And it doesn't change the fact that your presence distracted my Watcher, almost got him killed."

"I didn't do anything. I have literally just been existing." Patting at escaping strands of hair, Cosette sighs. "Maybe if he's that easily distracted, he shouldn't be following you into battle."

"Probably not. Though he's remarkably good at fighting if you get him into the right head-space. It just involves getting him out of his own head, usually." Sighing, the Slayer steps forward, holding out her hand. "I'm Eponine. If you are what you say you are, it's good to meet you."

"Euphrasie." Cosette shakes Eponine's hand, trying to have her grip be firm but not challenging. Since Eponine is trying to make her fingers go numb, it's a losing battle. "Most people call me Cosette, though."

"Cosette. I can do that." Eponine pulls her hand back to her side. "You're really interested in helping me out?"

"I've been killing vampires when I find them. I've _already_ helped you out." Cosette spreads her arms. "Besides, these people need someone to protect them, and apparently that someone is us."

"Huh. You're an interesting one, Cosette." Eponine gestures down the street. "Care to do some patrolling with me, then?"

Her clothes are dirty, scuffed and damp from her brief fight with Eponine. Brushing at a sleeve, Cosette reminds herself firmly that there are more important things to be worrying about—like pretty much everything else in her life, really. "Yes. If you don't mind."

They spend several hours out together, killing another trio of vampires that they find, and Cosette hopes that it's the start of a good partnership.

XXX

It's Azelma who figures out who Cosette is.

Getting Azelma away from their father had been one of the first things Eponine did, when the Watchers came to tell her what she was and what they wanted from her. Eponine was to be their tool, their weapon that they can aim against a few of the monsters in the dark—the ones that they care about, at least. In order to be that weapon, she has to be physically fit and psychologically willing to fight.

The second requirement, getting her to agree to fight, meant getting them away from their father. She did it just in time, too, the old fool getting himself picked up by the law just a few days after she and Azelma disappeared. Eponine had been afraid that the Watchers would refuse, would try to bargain with her father instead of her, but apparently they recognized the type of man that he was, and thought it wasn't worth the hassle when Eponine would come with them willingly provided they kept her father out of the loop.

The first requirement, that she be physically fit, had resulted in an incredible improvement in her fortunes. She now has a room of her own. A small thing, really, but compared to what she had expected to have in her life, it's a mansion. A mansion that she shares with Azelma, her younger sister keeping the room clean and seeing to food for them and blossoming into a _person_ again, rather than the silent pawn who cries if their father uses her too much.

(Sometimes Gavroche stays with them, too, but Gavroche is too much his own creature to accept a pretty gilded cage, even one that Eponine is fairly certain will never be locked.)

It isn't charity. It's payment for a job, in a way, and that means Eponine has been more than all right with accepting Marius' help in setting up her lodgings, familiarizing herself with her abilities and weapons, and coordinating with the Watchers about emerging threats.

She doesn't tell Marius about Cosette.

Part of it is that Marius seems far too focused on Cosette as it is. When Cosette makes a mistake, is visible for even a handful of seconds, it's like Marius' eyes are magnetically attracted to her. (One of Marius' friends, who apparently helped him fight demons in the sewers a few months ago, is fascinated by _everything under the sun_ ,including both Slayers and vampires, and spent several hours trying to explain magnets to Eponine in return for watching her slay a vampire duo.)

There's also the fact that Cosette isn't something she _wants_ to share. Cosette is... special. She is beautiful, in a way that Eponine knows she will never be, the last years of deprivation having taken an irreversible toll on her. Cosette is aware of that beauty, too, but not in a boastful, vain way. Or... not in a way that interferes with her doing what she needs to do. They have never been in a fight where Cosette has run away. Eponine has never initiated a training session that Cosette doesn't continue doggedly through until the end, no matter how hard Eponine pushes them both.

Cosette is _good_ , in a way that Eponine wishes she could imagine being. They have been ordained by God as Slayers to _save_ people, Cosette says time and again, and she _believes_ it. She _lives_ it, saving lives whenever she has the opportunity, not seeming to see the difference between the slums and the mansions of the wealthy when it comes to the value of the lives contained therein.

(The Watchers do. Eponine wonders if they realize it, when they draft her patrol routes, that they are guarding the areas where their own homes are located best, the wealthy the second-best, and the poor the worst. She adjusts her patrols to suit herself, uses Cosette's secret assistance to cover a far larger area than they expect her to be able to, and the result both keeps her masters happy and herself from screaming.)

"Cosette." Azelma whispers the name to herself, over and over in a little sing-song as she mends a rip in the blouse that Eponine was patrolling in last night. They had found vampires, unexpectedly, after Marius had already returned home to his bed, and Cosette had helped Eponine stagger home, Eponine bearing a gash in shoulder and shirt. The shoulder is well on its way to healing, thanks to her Slayer abilities, and Azelma is doing a fair job on the shirt. "Cosette Cosette Cosette."

"Or Euphrasie." Eponine strokes a hand across her sister's hair, her touch gentle even as her voice is harsh. She doesn't mean to be harsh, to be jealous and possessive of Cosette, but hearing another person name the Slayer that is her secret makes something dark twist in her chest. "You can call her Euphrasie."

"Euphrasie." Azelma turns the name over slowly on her tongue, staring down at the shirt, her shoulders hunched. "Euphrasie. Didn't we know a bird with that name, once? A little lark, who didn't fly or sing..."

Eponine had forgotten.

Or... not forgotten. Stopped thinking about it, because it didn't matter. The little girl who used to do the chores disappeared, and the chores fell on her and Azelma, but before long the inn itself disappeared, and then their clothes, and then their hope, and it had been so long ago...

She watches Cosette, the next time they are together. Watches the way Cosette reads body language, reads tone of voice; watches the quiet, stubborn determination in Cosette's eyes; watches the way her face hardens any time Eponine brings up the idea of Cosette being found out by the Watchers or giving herself over to them. There is hope and there is goodness in Cosette, but there is not the naïve innocence of a girl who has been coddled her whole life, and Eponine knows that Azelma is right.

The lark who flew away has learned to sing, and it is a beautiful song.

And if Cosette learned to sing, wherever she went, then perhaps it isn't too late for Eponine to learn to sing, either.

XXX

They dream.

Cosette knows that Eponine dreams the same dream she does, though Eponine is less forthright in talking about it, as though speaking of dreams were dangerous or forbidden. Or perhaps it is merely that Eponine doesn't have words to put to the images and the emotions that they see in their dreams, and so instead of speaking she shrugs and looks away, angry at their world that will not be easily understood.

Eponine is angry a great deal.

Cosette doesn't blame her for it, though. It doesn't take any schooling at all to recognize that Eponine and Azelma and the little boy who may-or-may-not be their brother have been through terrible times together. They don't talk about their parents, beyond Azelma whispering _gone away, taken away_ , and Cosette learns not to ask.

The Watchers are caring for them, at least. The Watchers are giving them food and lodging and all the weapons that Eponine can possibly use, which ends up being quite a few, since she shares them freely with Cosette. If not for the way Cosette's father cautioned her against them and the things she has seen in dreams...

But she _has_ seen things in dreams. She has seen men making deals with a creature that exudes evil, a sense of malice and hatred that bears only the vaguest shape of a man. She has seen a cavern, and an altar, and a child strapped down to the altar. Sometimes the child is Gavroche; sometimes it is Azelma; sometimes it is one of the beggar children she passes in the street; sometimes it is the children who try to pick-pocket her when she patrols their streets; sometimes it is not a face she has seen, but always it is a _young_ face. A scarred face, the face of the unloved and the unwanted, and there is both terror and understanding and a deep, abiding hatred in the young eyes as they watch the blood-red knife with the night-black handle descend.

Cosette cannot allow the dream to come to pass. Even if there weren't the desperate sense of failure and doom in the dream, she could not allow someone to die still believing that the world is always unfair, always unsafe, always empty of kindness and compassion.

The fact that there _is_ a sense of utter despair when the knife sinks home in the young heart, though—the hundreds of female voices in a thousand languages crying out in aching loss—those tell her even more clearly that she must not fail. They tell her that failure will see the world embroiled in darkness.

Except she doesn't know who she's supposed to be fighting.

She doesn't know what the dark creature is, and she doesn't know the identities of the men who are going to allow a child to die and the world to fall irreparably into darkness.

"That's bein' very melodramatic, don't you think?" Eponine holds out a half a scone for Cosette to take, following it up with their canteen of water.

They have just killed a small family of new vampires, two adults and four children of various ages. They were, once again, from the poorest of Paris' neighborhoods. Cosette takes both food and water, sipping to wet her throat before responding. "You've seen it, haven't you? Heard it? Those are all the other Slayers, from across time, telling us what we must not allow to happen."

"I've seen something, I'll admit. But trying to make sense out of dreams..." Eponine shrugs, the movement sharp and determined.

"That's all we have to go on." Cosette hands back the canteen. "Unless your Watcher friend has come up with anything...?"

"No." Eponine makes a face. "Marius isn't exactly the sharpest tool in the kit when it comes to whittling out intrigue, though."

"Something big is going to happen. Soon." The dreams are coming more frequently now than they were before, at least once if not twice a night, where they started at just once a week.

"If it does, we'll stop it." Eponine settles the canteen back across her shoulders, hidden under her jacket, and stretches.

Her body has filled out, in the months that she and Cosette have been working together. She is all lean muscle—they both are, Eponine's training routine and their frequent battles see to that—but she has healthy curves now that she didn't have before. When she places a hand on a cocked hip, Cosette finds herself staring for longer than is probably proper, and her eye pause on their way up to Eponine's face to admire the soft swell of bosom they encounter. She doesn't let them pause for long, though. It is not Eponine's body that has most enchanted her, after all, and she learned quickly in the convent not to show too much appreciation of another girl's body unless she wanted it to be commented on. "How do you know we'll be able to stop it?"

"Because we've stopped everything up until this point." Eponine closes the distance between them, placing a finger under Cosette's chin to lift it. "Because you're wind and I'm fire, little sparrowhawk, and together we make a burning cyclone that the monsters can't resist."

Cosette swallows, her skin seeming to burn beneath Eponine's finger, her eyes entranced by the stubborn determination flaring bright in Eponine's gaze. "We haven't ever faced anything like what I'm seeing in my dreams."

Eponine tosses her head back, her hair—richer and thicker than it was when Cosette first met her—falling about her face where it has pulled loose of its careful battle coif. "What I'm seeing in my dreams is you, Cosette, and you don't let even death stop you. We're going to be just fine."

Cosette's breath catches in her throat, and she knows that even if she could argue she wouldn't. It is the first time she has ever heard Eponine say with definitive certainty that the future will not only come, but be _bright_. That _Cosette_ can help make the future be bright, and it causes a little thrill to run through her whole body.

"Well, that's one vote of confidence I fully intend to live up to." Patting her own hair back into place, the mourning black of her dress still managing to hide most of the signs of their previous battle, Cosette bows and gestures down the road. "Shall we continue then, milady?"

"After you, my dear." Eponine bows low in return. "I wouldn't presume to go before you."

They are both giggling as they continue on their way.

It is not a sound Cosette thinks she has heard either of them make before, but it's a pleasant one, and she hopes she will get more opportunities to laugh with Eponine in the future.

XXX

"And you're sure you don't know _anything_ , Marius?"

"I don't!" Marius runs a hand through his hair, feeling far too defensive. This has turned into Eponine's standard greeting, though, and it's beginning to sound almost _threatening_ , as though she thinks he's holding something back from her. "I mean, I _do_ know a great deal, but nothing about what you're asking! The Watchers are searching their records, but the Convergence should have been the only event that happens for _at least_ five years."

Eponine paces the short confines of her room. "The Convergence that you all stopped?"

With an effort of will Marius keeps himself from snapping back that he's talking about a different convergence of evil. "Yes, that Convergence."

Pausing in front of him, Eponine stares through narrowed eyes into his. "And you're _sure_ you stopped it?"

"Does it look like the vampires have unleashed hordes of demons onto the Parisian streets to subjugate all of humanity?"

"Well, the bourgeois are still in control..." At his exasperated look Eponine sighs. "No, you're right, there are no true demons out there, just the usual human ones. But there _has_ to be something. W—I can't just be having these dreams because of the season change!"

Eponine is hiding something from him. She has been hiding something for quite a while, but her tiny slips of the tongue are becoming more frequent. Marius can't for the life of him figure out _what_ she's hiding from him, though. "The Watchers agree that your dreams are probably portentous, but we're still looking into what they're portents of."

Jabbing a finger towards his chest, Eponine resumes her pacing. "And you've looked into it yourself, personally?"

"I've done... some."

Eyes narrowed again, a tiger sensing prey, Eponine stalks towards him. "Some?"

"I've been rather busy with you! And with translation! That _is_ what I was originally hired for, to translate the mad ravings of ancient monks that no one else wanted to deal with." Marius sighs again, recognizing that look on his Slayer's face. "I will do more looking of my own. Though you _should_ trust them, you know. They have only yours and Paris' best interests at heart."

"Perhaps they have what they see as Paris' best interests at heart." Eponine's hand lands with surprising gentleness on his shoulder, squeezing just once before letting go. "But there are a great many definitions of what Paris is, and who is included in that definition, and I have long learned not to trust that _I_ am included in the vast majority of those definitions."

"That doesn't..." Marius trails off, because if he thinks of what he has seen from Eponine, from the woman who was the Slayer before her, from the Watchers themselves... if he thinks of what he has heard from Courfeyrac, from Bossuet, from Bahorel... perhaps a bit of understanding is possible. "I know that you don't trust them. And I know you have your reasons. But I'm sure you'll be proven wrong."

"I hope I am." Eponine slips on her coat, the one that has stake-holders sewn into the lining, and heads to the door. "In all honesty, I hope to God that you're right. I hope that I was Called to this to save everyone, and that those who have appointed themselves my handlers see that, and that we will stop whatever darkness is coming together. I do hope that, Marius, like I haven't hoped for something in at least a decade."

But she doesn't think it will happen. Her history tells her that it won't happen.

Marius is mulling over this new information, mulling over the possibilities of traitors among the Watchers. He is so distracted he barely notices a flash of dark skirts, doesn't raise his eyes to see the face of the ghost who haunts his dreams.

Eponine has hope, now. For one of the first times since he met her, she is _hoping_ for a good future.

He hopes, desperately, that it is one they will be able to provide.

XXX

"You're certain?"

"No." Prouvaire is practically sitting on the table, his eyes only two or three centimeters from the text. "This priest had absolutely atrocious handwriting. He should be ashamed of himself."

"From the preceding text, it's likely that the abbey was under attack by demons or at least some kind of monsters that he _believed_ were demons at the time he was writing this." Combeferre pushes his glasses up further on his nose, turning his head slightly, as though a different angle will make the words more comprehensible. "One's penmanship tends to deteriorate during times of crisis."

"It shouldn't! The words one writes during a crisis may end up being the most important ones of your life." Prouvaire frowns at the document.

"So..." Marius finds a moment in which to try to ask his question a bit more clearly. "Does that mean there _isn't_ something dangerous coming?"

"Oh, no." Combeferre raises his head to blink at Marius, shoving another ancient document over. "You were able to read this yourself, correct? You read what it said about the Devourer."

"Yes, but, well..." Marius' eyes scan over the page again. He had found the documents tucked away in a room he _technically_ wasn't supposed to be in. They have clearly been read many times, with annotations scattered at the margins, and what he had been able to read had been enough to cause his blood to run cold. What he _couldn't_ read easily made up two-thirds of the stack, though, and so he had borrowed it and called on those he thought most likely to be able to help with translation.

"You were hoping it wasn't true." Prouvaire's hand claps him on the back. "Don't worry, it's a perfectly reasonable wish. No one would want a super-powered vampire sacrificing children in their city."

Prouvaire had actually seemed remarkably... _interested_ in the premise, though Marius supposes if he's being entirely fair the man had also seemed outraged at the idea of killing children.

" _The blood of a hundred youths will at least diminish his unstoppable thirst, and at that time the Slayer may strike_." Combeferre pushes himself away from the table, mouth twisted in disgust. "It's an accurate translation, Jehan. They're saying if you let the ritual begin, there will be a point where it's easier to stop him."

"Allow him to kill a hundred children, and then hope that you can stop him before the gates of Hell are flung wide." Jehan's eyes find Marius, pin him in place. "If the Convergence was halted partway through, which is what we did, this Devourer was almost certainly able to make it through."

"And he'll attempt to complete the Convergence, six months from the first time." Combeferre paces, his glasses in his hands, his fingers fiddling with the frame as he shakes his head. "He'll be immensely powerful, with a vast army of newly-turned vampires that he's created. He'll be faster, stronger, resistant to burning from articles of faith... a true monster."

"And the way they've defeated him in the past, the way they're advocating, is to let him start the ritual he'll want to start and then destroy him. Will they do it?" Jehan's voice trembles, a mixture of outrage and grim certainty. "Will your Watchers sacrifice children to save their own skins?"

Marius wants to say no. He wants to protest that they are good people, that they are doing the best that they can, and that they would surely not allow such a monstrosity to take place.

Before the words can leave his mouth, though, he thinks of Eponine. He thinks of the things they still say about her, behind her back, the disparaging comments about her looks, her history, her accent. He thinks of the way they debate the gender of the Slayer, alternately wishing it were a man granted the powers and arguing that it is better an easily-led woman be the weapon that they can carefully aim.

He thinks of the way they call themselves good men, and tell themselves that nothing could have been done, and thus _do_ nothing to change their tactics and provide more protection for the poor who are being hunted almost daily, now, by vampires.

"Let me look into it." Marius gathers the documents back to himself, knowing he will have to return them soon if he is to avoid too much suspicion. "If we need the Amis' help, Eponine and I, will you... I know I've no right to ask, but do you think..."

"We'll be there." Combeferre's hand lands gently on his shoulder.

"Paris is our home." Prouvaire's hand lands on the other shoulder. "We've no wish to see her taken over by monsters even more inhuman than those who hold her hostage now."

"Royalty is easier to kill than vampires." A slight smile turns Combeferre's lips up. "We'll have to discuss it with Enjolras, of course, but if you need assistance, ask."

"Thank you." Gathering up his manuscripts, Marius excuses himself awkwardly, hoping he won't have to take them up on the offer.

XXX

Marius manages to get the documents back where he found them, and is just closing the door when one of the senior Watchers appears behind him.

"Pontmercy?" The man barks out his name, and Marius can't quite keep from startling like a baby fawn. "Is everything all right, young man?"

"Oh, yes, everything's fine." Marius backs away from the door. "Just... retrieving a bit of data for Monsieur Renault, that's all."

"Good." The silver-haired man nods, expression softening. "You're a hard-working lad, that's for sure. Still personally keeping tabs on our Slayer?"

"Yes, sir." Marius speaks awkwardly, trying not to look like he wants to sprint off down the hall.

"A tough thing, having the Slayer be a woman like that. Ah, well, it fits the times, I suppose." The old man shakes his head, as though that's all that can be said about the matter.

"Sir." Marius feels as though he is talking to his grandfather. He would not be surprised, actually, to see his grandfather among these people, though most have opinions only about their own internal politics and trust the external ones to sort themselves out in a way that will still be useful to the Watchers. "Eponine has been wondering, as have I, if something is... brewing."

"Something's always brewing." The old man snorts out a laugh. "Nothing we need to worry about right now, though. We'll get you where you need to be when the time comes."

"I trust you on that, I most certainly do, it's just... there have been a lot of deaths." Marius matches his step to the older man's as they begin down the hall. "Eponine has slain more vampires this week alone than in the previous two, and things just keep escalating."

"It's a dangerous time. A bad time." The man's hand connects with Marius' shoulder, a parody of the comradely affection Combeferre and Prouvaire showed him. "But we're keeping the city safe. Those who have died have mostly been from the slums, yes? Better to die now than starve or freeze during the winter, don't you think?"

No. He doesn't. He has _never_ thought like that, though for the most part he has never thought about those less fortunate than himself, period.

Now he _cannot_ think like that. Now the woman who saves his life on a weekly basis—who saves _many_ lives—comes from amongst those this man would let die.

"I see what you mean, sir." Marius quickens his step, leaving the old man behind. "I do see what you mean."

XXX

Eponine dreams, and in her dreams Cosette dies.

They are nightmares, now, nightmares that come back-to-back anytime she tries to sleep. They tell a story, she thinks, but it is a story that she does not understand completely. A story that is missing pieces, missing important steps, and she grapples frantically with the images, knowing that she _must_ understand them if she is to have a chance of changing them. She must see _how_ Cosette comes to be impaled on black claws, _how_ Cosette ends up bleeding silently onto the floor, if she is to make sure it doesn't happen.

_Faith_ , the chorus of dead whispers every time she wakes screaming. _Faith_.

" _Faith_." Eponine spits the word out, pushing sweat-tangled locks of hair away from her eyes. "What does _that_ mean?"

"Trust." Azelma whispers the word, reaching over to begin slowly untangling Eponine's hair. It had frightened Azelma, the first few times Eponine woke screaming, but now she accepts it, does what she can to comfort Eponine, and falls back asleep. "Belief."

"I _know_ what it means." Eponine allows her body to fall back onto the bed. "I just don't know what it _means_."

Azelma can give her no answers, and so her sister stays quiet, providing physical contact and the warm presence of another living body.

Cosette _can't_ die. Cosette isn't _allowed_ to die. Whatever monsters there may be out there, they are _not_ allowed to have Eponine's black hawk.

Turning to her sister, Eponine forces a tired smile. "Has Gavroche been back?"

Azelma shakes her head. "They're still looking. Lots of places that can look like caverns, he said, but he's showin' the picture around, and if it's out there, the gamin can find it."

They have to find it. If they _don't_ find it, it's the gamin who will die. Eponine had told Gavroche that, as she has told him everything she knows about the monsters she hunts in the night. It is little enough power, but the knowledge and her presence on the streets are the only things she has to offer, and she hopes it will be enough to make some difference.

"Rest, Eponine." Azelma's fingers rub in small circles on Eponine's back, her sister's hand warm and firm. "You've only been asleep for a bit over an hour, and you were patrolling all night."

Eponine wants to protest. She wants to say that sleeping is useless, that dreaming again of a terrible future will be anything but restful.

Her body is aching, though, demanding care, and she knows that sleep will help her be faster, stronger, more certain in her actions.

If she wants to keep Cosette safe, best that she sleep.

The nightmares are something that can only hurt her, after all.

XXX

"If you knew you were going to die..."

Eponine trails off, not sure where to go from there. Certain that she's said too much, and yet also not enough, but how do you say you have watched someone die in your dreams, and that the thought of it happening in reality chills your blood to ice?

"I've already done that once. I'd prefer not to do it again." Cosette's hand rests against her stomach, as it usually does when she talks about her death, and Eponine suspects that is where she was injured.

Is there a scar there, she wonders? If she were to see Cosette free of the black mourning garb that houses her whenever they are alone on patrol like this, to see her free of _all_ clothes... that isn't something she should think about, though, and she turns eyes and thoughts both hastily away. "If you knew you were going to die during a fight that you could avoid, would you still go?"

"Yes." There is just the slightest pause before the answer, which is given in a husky whisper, full of certainty and surety.

Eponine raises her eyes, locks them on Cosette's. "Even knowing that you could do more good elsewhere? You're a Slayer; you can fight monsters anywhere."

"And the first place to fight them is in your own heart. Also, I think, frequently the hardest." Cosette's hand rises, presses gently to her chest, and a tiny smile plays across her mouth, somehow both teasing and profound. "If I left people to die in my place, people I could have saved, there will be a dark shadow in my heart from that point on. I would prefer to walk in light."

"Everyone would." The words come out harsher than Eponine intended, and she reaches out, taking Cosette's hand in hers to soften them. "But sometimes every path brings shadows."

"Not every path. Never every path." Cosette's fingers twine with hers, squeeze gently. "Though sometimes it can certainly seem that way, there _will_ be a light. Even if you have to make it by striking flint and steel out of your own hard-pressed body, there will be light."

"You believe that." Shaking her head, Eponine studies the young woman at her side. "I know you saw monsters in your childhood—"

Cosette's eyes narrow, suspicion forming in their depths.

Eponine hurries on. "And I know your father traded his life for yours, and you see the monsters we hunt, and yet you believe that there is light."

"Yes." Another smile plays about Cosette's lips, and her free hand rises, presses gently against Eponine's chest over her heart. "Because we're here, Eponine. _We're_ light, and if we are then surely there must be some others out there, trying to do whatever amount of good they can in the time that they are allotted."

"Whatever amount of good they can..." Eponine turns the phrase over in her mouth, liking the sound of it. "And if the good that you can do comes at the price of your life?"

"It wasn't all that bad, being dead." A shiver runs through Cosette's body, transmits itself to Eponine's hand, but the expression on her face is serene. "We choose the path of light, and we pay whatever price it costs."

Was it her father who taught her that? The sisters who taught her in the convent? The old man she calls Uncle Fauchelevant?

It wasn't something she learned under Eponine's roof, that's for sure.

But perhaps it is a better way to live, if one can manage it.

Eponine doesn't know, and she prays she never has to learn.

XXX

It's the boy Gavroche who comes to summon Cosette for the battle.

Eponine sent him. It's the only way he would have been able to find her, Cosette having been careful to watch for anyone attempting to follow her back to her house. Toussaint almost sends the dirty, scruffy boy away, but he is nimble and quick, and he darts into the house, screaming Cosette's name at the top of his lungs.

She follows him back to the meeting place, her heart beating hard in her chest. This is it. _This_ is why she came to find Eponine— _this_ is almost certainly why she and Eponine are both alive at the same time. This is a monster that will need two Slayers to be put down, and Cosette is more than happy to play her part in this story.

Even if it means admitting her existence to more people than just Eponine.

"—you could have _told_ me—" The man breaks off as Cosette follows Gavroche into the room, spinning to stare at her. " _You!_ "

" _You!_ " Of all the people she could have seen today, _this_ was not one that Cosette expected. "The young man from the park!"

"Ursule!" The man manages to close his mouth, finally, though he is still staring at Cosette as though she were a ghost. "I thought—I mean, I didn't expect—I—Ursule, I'm so glad to see you again!"

Cosette looks around, but he is clearly talking to her and not one of the other three women in the rather-crowded room. "I'm afraid you may be mistaken, good sir. My name is not Ursule. I am Euphrasie, though my friends and relatives tend to call me Cosette."

"But..." The man blinks at her, clearly confused. "I found... your handkerchief... I..."

"What my good friend here is trying to say is that he agrees there must have been some misunderstanding, but he is glad to make your acquaintance again." A short, cheerful man with curly hair is suddenly throwing an arm around her man's shoulders. "My name is Courfeyrac; this delightful specimen of humanity goes by Marius Pontmercy."

"Marius is my Watcher, as you know." Eponine has appeared at Cosette's side, and she scowls viciously at Marius. "Courfeyrac is a member of Les Amis de l'ABC, who will be our back-up for this fight."

"Oh!" Cosette gives a brief curtsy. "I'm sorry, Monsieur Pontmercy. I should have recognized you before, but you're usually bundled up or in shadow or running from vampires when I've been following Eponine, and I never realized exactly who you were."

"Just Marius is fine." Marius' voice is faint, his eyes distant as they move from Eponine to Cosette. "Though I must say, I wish you had introduced yourself before now."

"Not with the Watchers watching Eponine so closely." Cosette shakes her head. "I'm here now, though, and we've all a job to do."

"We do." Courfeyrac claps Marius on the shoulder before turning to the rest of the room. "All right, everyone, let's do a quick round of introductions!"

There are a dozen people who have come to assist them—Marius, nine men who are introduced as members of Les Amis, and two women, both of whom appear to have romantic partners among the Amis, given the way they stay close to one or two of the Amis. All of them seem quite comfortable with the contraband weaponry that they are holding.

Cosette looks at Eponine; Eponine looks at Cosette, and then away, her arms crossed in front of her chest.

Clearly this is going to be Cosette's mission to coordinate. All right. She can do that. Turning back to the gathered men, she smiles. "Thank you all for coming. You all know what our purpose is?"

"We're hunting the vampire that's been haunting Paris." Prouvaire has crucifixes dangling from every possible location on his clothing and several that Cosette wouldn't have thought were possible.

"Exactly." Cosette nods. "Gavroche knows where the creature has been lairing. It's an incredibly dangerous one, very strong, very old..." Biting her lip, Cosette tries to decide what she should say next.

"We know." The man who picks up her broken speech does so gently, stepping forward, a rifle held cradled in his arms as though he were born with one there. His blond hair shines in the light coming through the window, and his blue eyes seem to stare right through her. "This isn't our first time fighting monsters, and Marius has shared what he knows with us. If it's all right with you, we're going to have Bahorel and Pontmercy take point into the buried chamber, with you and Eponine following. Marius should be able to recognize any supernatural traps, and Bahorel has extensive combat experience. They should be able to both survive and take any unexpected surprises. You and Eponine will engage with the Devourer; the rest of us will keep his minions off your backs. Is that an acceptable plan?"

"Yes. Quite acceptable." Cosette nods, glad that someone here has a bit more fighting experience than she does.

Eponine pulls her to the side of the room, away from their crew as the others pass out swords, knives, stakes, and bullets. Reaching into her pocket, Eponine pulls out two small rosaries. The beads are well-polished by the passage of hands, one a dark wood, the other a light blond. "Blessed and dipped in holy water and all that useful stuff. Sometimes Marius comes up with worthwhile things. One for you and one for me."

"Thank you." Cosette smiles, leaning her head down so that Eponine can slip the necklace onto her more easily.

Eponine gives her the light-colored wood, the soft tones standing out stark and beautiful against Cosette's black dress.

Taking the rosary of dark wood from Eponine's hands, Cosette slips it over the other Slayer's head, settles it carefully around her shoulders. And if her hands linger a bit, brushing against neck and cheeks and shoulders, well, they are going into battle. One or both of them might not survive.

Eponine's hand dips into her pocket again, and emerges this time with two small cockades. "Would you mind...?"

"Not at all." Cosette shakes her head, standing perfectly still as Eponine pins the little cockade in place above Cosette's left breast.

Taking the other cockade from Eponine, Cosette once more returns the favor.

"Why?" Cosette's fingers brush against the cockade, staying on the little flower.

" _Faith_." Eponine ducks her head, her eyes not meeting Cosette's. "That's what I keep hearing in my dreams. I don't know what it means, but I told the others, and, well... you see what they've done."

She does, now that she looks more closely. Enjolras has only the cockade, standing out stark against his austere clothing. Most of the others have something in addition to the cockade, though—a crucifix, a rosary, an image of the Virgin Mary, a saint's necklace, other symbols that Cosette suspects the church would find deeply heretical.

Cosette blinks, surprised to find that her eyes are tearing as she surveys the room. Then she turns to Eponine, takes in Eponine's uncertain posture.

She shouldn't. She should be cautious and careful, not take any liberties that might upset or irritate Eponine. But they are going to fight, a fight that has been nothing but darkness and fear in her dreams, and she wants Eponine to know how much she cares.

Throwing her arms around the other Slayer, Cosette whispers into her ear. "I have faith in you."

Eponine doesn't say anything in reply, but she hugs Cosette back just as fiercely, and that by itself is answer enough.

XXX

She must protect Cosette.

That is Eponine's driving goal, as they follow Gavroche through a warren of collapsing tunnels until they find the grand room that has become the monster's seat of power.

There is only one entrance and exit to the room. This will make it easy for them to corner their prey; it will also make it easy for their prey to corner them, if their rear guard is taken out.

That's all right. If they lose, then Paris loses; if they retreat, the monsters take the children.

The children that no one else wants, the children that no one else calls children, but Eponine will not accept them being a sacrifice for the greater good of those who see them as only evil.

When they come to the opening into the chamber proper, Gavroche is passed back into the center of the Amis, despite silent scowling protests from the boy. Bahorel and Marius creep forward, and then dive through the open doorway, one to each side.

When there are no screams erupting after five seconds, Eponine and Cosette follow them in.

The space is enormous, at least a hundred feet in diameter and twenty feet high. At some point this building stood above ground; now it has been buried, lost to time. Rubble sits in corners, forms creeping curls up walls; there is no natural light, though lanterns provide enough illumination for them to see well.

"Welcome, Slayers."

The voice is soft, more a hiss that seems to fill the room than anything else. There is no gender to the voice, nothing male or female. If dust had a voice, this is what it would sound like.

Bahorel doesn't wait for the monster to say more. Before Eponine has even pinpointed where the voice came from, the crack of a rifle being discharged sounds, echoing eerily in the room.

The voice laughs, and the monster that it belongs to steps out of the shadows, brushing at its waistcoat where a fresh hole smolders slightly. The form as well as the voice is genderless, though it wears the clothes of a man. No hair touches the body, not on the head, not on the backs of the long, black-nailed hands, not on the fanged, distorted face, not above the blood-red eyes. "Good eyes, child of man. Pity they won't do you much good."

Bahorel merely grins, busily reloading. "We'll see."

"I knew you would come, Slayer." The creature focuses in on Eponine, ignoring Bahorel entirely now, ignoring Marius, ignoring even Cosette. "You are too canny, too much a part of these streets to be fooled by their lies for long. They underestimate you. But wisdom comes with age, and they are all very, very young."

"As opposed to you?" Eponine means the words to be flippant, but there is too much of a gasping panic lurking in her tone for them to reach that. This creature is _old_ , her instincts scream, and it is _dangerous_ , and it is drifting toward her, small, quiet movements that add up to a graceful stalk.

"As opposed to me." The creature doesn't smile. It lifts a hand, expression contemplative. "I am very old, Slayer. I have learned to pick my battles. They offer me the children of the city, a hundred lives to slake my thirst. What counter-offer will you make, to turn me away from them?"

Eponine narrows her eyes, understanding but not believing what is being offered. "What?"

"Bargain with me, Slayer. If you will not accept the bargain that has been struck already, what will you accept?" A gray tongue slides out to glance across sharp fangs. "Will you offer me the blood of those who struck the deal? I would accept it. Corral them. Give me a hundred men, and I will let your children go."

She considers it. Cosette wouldn't, she will think in retrospect. Cosette would say that any life bargained away is one life too many. Cosette would say that one should do some good, just _some_ good, and above all not help to perpetuate evil.

Cosette attacks, while the creature is talking with Eponine.

Before her first blow can connect the vampires rise up out of every shadow, every nook and cranny and rubble pile. There should not be as many of them as there are. There is no possible way this many bodies were hidden in such a small space.

Marius and his companions don't flinch, meeting the creatures head on. The smell of gunpowder quickly fills the air, along with human war cries and the hissing of hungry vampires.

The Devourer easily dodges Cosette's first attack, seeming to float backward out of range. "Fools. What is to stop me if you both die here?"

"Whoever comes next." Cosette tosses her head back, a grim smile gracing her face. Her eyes flick to Eponine, just for a moment, though her body remains facing the beast. "But we won't be dying here today."

There isn't time for words after that. There is only attack and counter-attack, dodge and strike, and Eponine realizes quickly that they are losing.

They are _all_ losing. One of the Amis—Bossuet, she thinks, though she's not certain—is unconscious or worse on the floor, another Ami and one of the women they brought with them guarding his fallen form. Enjolras and Marius are somehow managing to hold their own, but others are falling back, forming small clusters—Bahorel and Prouvaire and another woman together, Feuilly and Combeferre and Courfeyrac.

She sees Bahorel fall, out of the corner of her eye as she lunges backward to avoid a decapitating blow.

A painful dodge roll to the right, over jagged masonry, and Courfeyrac is kneeling on the floor, bleeding badly from a gash in his head.

Cosette doesn't falter, doesn't debate whether they should continue or not. She just fights, grim and certain, the lark and the hawk and the dogged light that Eponine does not understand but realizes, abruptly, she loves dearly.

Eponine sees the blow coming, as she hasn't in all of her dreams. She sees Cosette's foot slide on a blood-slicked section of loose tile, the other Slayer coming down hard on her right hand, jarring loose the stake that she is holding as both defense and offense.

Eponine's body moves before her mind is done processing that this is it, this is the moment. Even as Cosette falls, as the Devourer moves in for the killing blow, Eponine throws herself between Cosette and the danger.

" _Eponine!_ "

Cosette's outraged cry echoes and re-echoes—and it _is_ outrage, more than pain, more than fear, a frantic rejection of what has happened.

It doesn't hurt as much as it should, Eponine thinks, feeling blood flood down her chest, down her stomach. There is even a certain _rightness_ to it, a certainty that this is the way things are supposed to play out.

Cosette is the light, the good that survives even the darkest of nights, the dawn that breaks for all, and Eponine has protected her.

The girl who was nothing, who could be nothing, who was simply a defective tool for whoever could grasp her best, has saved the most important thing in the world.

And maybe, just maybe, if Cosette lives, the rest of Paris will, too.

Light flares bright as Eponine's legs collapse, sending her crashing to the ground. At first she doesn't understand what has happened, squints her eyes against the flare.

Cosette's hands grasp her shoulders, help her into a sitting position, and Eponine tries to look at her and has to turn away.

She can't look at herself either, she realizes, the same light that flares from Cosette flaring from her own chest.

Flaring from the rosary, and a beam of light connects the one around her neck to the one about Cosette's.

Flaring from the cockades, and if she turns her head, squints at them out of the corner of her eye, Eponine can see a spider-web network of phosphorescent white lights connecting everyone in their group. On some it is brighter— _painfully_ bright where it touches Enjolras—and on some it is dim, but everywhere the light is present.

Cutting down the vampires, turning them to dust with even a glancing touch, and Eponine doesn't understand what is happening but she finds herself laughing in giddy joy anyway.

" _No!_ " The Devourer stares down at its hands in horror, watching as the light eats the flesh away. "You can't—this can't—"

And then it is gone, and they are alone in the dust-filled dimness.

"Eponine!" Cosette's fingers paw frantically at Eponine's blouse, pulling the tattered pieces apart to see the flesh beneath.

Flesh that is scarred, deep angry red scars of fresh-healed injuries, but otherwise whole.

"Eponine..." Cosette's fingers press gently to the scars, trace them up and down with the faintest of touches. "Faith. Faith in each other, in God, in our friends, in our country... faith saved us. But you couldn't _know_ that. You could have _died_."

"Worth it." Eponine smiles, pressing herself closer to the woman whose life she saved, shivering now that everything is over. "For you, for your light, so, so—"

Cosette's mouth claims Eponine's, a deep fierce kiss as Cosette's arms pull her tight, in a hug that feels more like coming home than anything else Eponine has ever experienced.

After barely a second Cosette's mouth hesitates, her body tensing, and Eponine knows that the other woman is going to pull away, that she will apologize for being so forward.

Wrapping her own arms around Cosette, Eponine deepens the kiss, leaving no doubt as to who and what she wants.

They stay like that, for seconds or minutes or hours, it doesn't really matter. When they pull apart, they smile at each other, and Cosette's hand strokes through Eponine's hair while Eponine's cups Cosette's cheek.

Staggering upright, they make a circuit of the room, confirming that everyone is alive even if not quite in one piece.

Then they all begin the long trek back to the surface, and the brilliant red light of the setting sun.

XXX

They stand on the edge of the river, and Eponine gives Cosette's hand a gentle squeeze. "You're sure you want to do this?"

Cosette smiles at her lover. It has been two weeks since they destroyed the Devourer—two weeks since Eponine broke with the Watchers, moving herself and Azelma into Cosette's house, trading in the assistance of the Watchers for the more palatable backing of the Amis. "I'm certain."

"You know we might not be able to get a better deal than the one your father got." Eponine kicks a stone into the river.

"I know." Cosette smiles serenely. "But we can try. We can ask. We can _hope_ , and who knows what hope can give us?"

The incantation is surprisingly simple.

The result is dramatic and immediate, and Eponine can't help reaching for weapons as the river explodes in a burst of foam and spray and the most beautiful woman Eponine has ever seen steps forth.

"Slayers." The _melusine_ smiles at them, and it is not quite a human smile. "It has been long since I was visited by any group so portentous."

"Not so long." Cosette holds her head high, though her voice is respectful. "They brought you my corpse half a year ago; now I come to you whole, and ask for a favor."

"I do not give favors." The woman shakes her head, her water-spray-blue eyes seeming to shift blue to white to blue again. "But tell me the wish, and I can tell you what tasks and price would be required."

Cosette draws a deep breath, squeezing Eponine's hand as she does. "I want my father back. And I will not pay a price in blood or death to have my wish come true."

The _melusine_ closes her mouth, eying them both speculatively for a moment. Then she smiles, and though it is not a kind expression, Eponine thinks it is an _approving_ one. "To trade a life for a life is a simple matter. To create life without giving one—"

"Is what family does. What women do, every time they give birth." Again Cosette squeezes Eponine's hand, taking comfort in the contact. "What hope does, and what we would do."

"Very well, then." The _melusine_ settles back on a throne of churning water, raising three fingers into the air. "None of these tasks will be easy, but if you were to complete them all..."

Cosette can't help breaking out in a bright smile, and Eponine's hand releases hers so that it can slip around her waist, holding her close.

They will not be easy tasks, no, but with Eponine and all her other new friends at her side, Cosette is certain they will succeed.


End file.
